


Experiments

by TakeMeOut



Series: Married To The Work [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reader-Insert, Restraints, Rough Sex, Self-Insert, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeMeOut/pseuds/TakeMeOut
Summary: Sherlock needs data. And distraction.Part of the Married To The Work series.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Series: Married To The Work [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709659
Comments: 2
Kudos: 124





	1. Wall

Her phone buzzes as she’s on the bus, heading for the gym.  _ I need your thoughts on something. Can you come? SH _

She messages back immediately.  _ Be there in half an hour. _

Sherlock talks at length when she arrives at Baker Street, taking her through the background to the case he’s working on before asking her thoughts on the psychological state of the victim. It’s noticeable, she thinks, that he’s occasionally prepared to ask her opinion these days. She wonders when that started. 

She leans briefly across the desk to reach for a file, and suddenly realises Sherlock has become very still, watching her. “What’s the matter?” she asks cautiously. 

He’s unusually hesitant, and he clears his throat uncertainly. “Can I … can I touch ... you?”

She realises he’s never seen her in her gym gear before, and she suppresses a smile as she watches his face. “Of course.” 

He steps up behind her, and after a long few seconds she feels hands stroking lightly across her bottom and thighs. She suspects that lycra is not a material Sherlock has had much exposure to, and she can almost feel him gathering and analysing the sensory data even as her muscles begin to melt in enjoyment at the sensation. 

Sherlock’s hands still, and then there’s the feeling of his hardness fitting lightly into the cleft of her backside as he leans against her. She pushes back against him and groans slightly, feeling his cock twitch at her response even through the fabric between them. He begins to rub himself slowly against her, his excitement evident in the way his fingers tighten fitfully on her hips and his breath becomes ragged. This is new; this isn’t Sherlock needing to clear his mind to concentrate on a case. This is Sherlock being  _ horny.  _

They make it most of the way to the bedroom, mouths and bodies fighting for dominance every step of the way. Outside the bathroom she tries to unbalance him again, to get the upper hand, but he’s ready for it this time. He widens his stance and shoves her against the wall, rutting against her in a frantic search for friction, mouth blindly seeking out hers as she licks messily and urgently into his mouth. 

She holds onto Sherlock's shoulders for support as he rips her leggings off and flings them away, and she pulls his hair, hard. He hisses and fumbles his trousers open with one hand, then she’s wrapping her legs round his waist as strong, sinewy arms wrap under her thighs and lift her up. 

“Oh God, yes, good, it’s so  _ good_,” she breathes into the warm skin of his neck as he pushes into her. He groans and bites into her shoulder, and she grinds against him and comes almost immediately. 

He loses control completely then, fucking up hard with grunts of animalistic satisfaction. It’s intoxicating to see this side of him, all trace of logic and inhibition abandoned, and when he pins her body against the wall and spills into her, the sight of his face contorted with pleasure pushes her over the edge again. 

Sherlock sets her down on the floor once they begin to catch their breath, and she kisses him one last time, gently now, soothing his bruised lips. He responds absently; his face has settled into blankness, and she knows he’s thinking, analysing, cataloguing. She smiles to herself and retrieves her clothes. 

By the time she’s dressed again he’s sitting in his favourite chair, unrumpled except for the wildness of his hair, fingers steepled and lost in thought. She smiles again and doesn’t look round as she leaves, so she doesn’t see his eyes slide across the room to watch her go. 


	2. Boredom

It’s Saturday, and she’s drinking coffee in the sun when John rings. “You’ve got to help,” he says without preamble, and there’s the sound of a door slamming shut. “Sherlock’s bored, and somebody’s going to get murdered. Possibly him, and possibly by me. He’s completely impossible.”

John’s known about her arrangement with Sherlock for some time. It was inevitable, really, that at some point he’d come home early from a date and find her emerging from Sherlock’s bedroom. To his credit, once he’d picked his jaw off the floor where it had scraped along for several days, he’d been remarkably accepting of the situation.

“I’m not just here to provide Sherlock with distraction, you know,” she replies.

John’s voice is instantly apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“I’m joking,” she interrupts, smiling. “I’ll see what I can do.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock is slumped in his chair wearing pyjamas and his second-best dressing gown, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks surprised when she enters. “I didn’t call you,” he observes sulkily.

“No,” she agrees. “John did, shortly after you were extremely rude and he stormed out.” Sherlock glances mutinously round the living room, registering John’s absence.

“I have a proposal for you,” she says. A brief expression of interest crosses his otherwise thunderous face. “An experiment.”

He frowns. “What kind of experiment?”

She grins slyly. “Orgasm denial.”

Sherlock blinks for a few seconds. “What?”

She begins to explain, and he cuts her off with a curt wave of his hand. “Yes, I know what it is,” he says. “What I don’t know is why I’d want to try it.”

“To see where your limits lie? How much endurance you have? What the rewards might be?”

He snorts, but she suspects he’s intrigued. “And what if I don’t want to take part in your experiment?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, but pushes his legs gently apart and kneels between them. He doesn’t exactly resist, but he doesn’t help either. She nuzzles her face softly into his crotch and he breathes in sharply; she sucks each of his balls gently into her mouth in turn through the thin fabric and feels his cock begin to harden. “Just tell me to stop, Sherlock, and I’ll go.”

She mouths his cock through the soft material while she waits for his reply. He’s almost completely hard now, and his hips twitch up, seeking her mouth. “Don’t stop,” he breathes.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock’s ethereal beauty is particularly well suited to this position, and she decides she likes him like this, helpless and stretched out underneath her. He’s tied by the wrists to the bed, and his dark curls are spread across the pillow. Each time she sinks down onto his cock his head jerks backwards, revealing a deliciously tempting length of pale neck.

He’s beginning to gasp and his hips stutter, trying to thrust deeper into her; she rises up and lets him slip out of her, then sits back down, trapping his cock. He keens and tries to push back inside her, but she lies down on him so his cock is rigid under her stomach.

“Patience,” she says quietly, and nuzzles her face into the soft warm skin across his collarbones and the base of his neck, feeling his muscles tense and twitch as he simultaneously fights for control and tries to submit to the experience.

Sherlock braces his feet on the bed and tries to rut against her, moaning desperately, but they’re both sweaty and slick and the friction isn’t anywhere near enough.

“Say you want this to stop and I’ll let you come,” she says again, as she did at the beginning. “You say when this ends.” He bites his bottom lip so hard she sees a bead of blood appear, and there’s a look of vulnerability in his eye she hasn’t seen before. After what feels like an eternity, he shakes his head.

Two hours later, she’s come more times than she can count and Sherlock is drenched in sweat and fighting his restraints as she rides him. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “Please,” he croaks out.

She pauses, and he calls out in what appears to be pain. “Please what?” she says.

He swallows thickly. “I need to come. _Please_.”

She watches his face for a second, then lifts herself up to give him room to thrust up into her. He fucks up just a handful of times before his cock becomes even harder than she’d thought possible, and then she feels him pulsing and the warmth of his ejaculation begins to spread inside her.

He’s groaning uncontrollably, head rolling back into the pillow as his whole body shudders and convulses with pleasure. It seems like an age before he begins to come down, and he looks dazed and astonished.

She gives him a few minutes to collect himself, then says, “So? Have you drawn any conclusions?” Sherlock looks at her with eyes that are faintly glassy, and seems to be incapable of speech, but eventually the edge of his mouth twitches up. She laughs, a genuine belly-deep sound of amusement. “Just promise me something. Next time you’re bored, call me.”


End file.
